


Doom and Gloom, Clouds Gathering

by HanukoYoukai



Category: The Dragon Prince
Genre: Family, Feels, Gen, How Do I Tag, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16152008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanukoYoukai/pseuds/HanukoYoukai
Summary: Callum was not a fan of wailing gusts of wind, he did not enjoy the pattering of rain against the shingles of roofs, and he did not... like... thunder. He didn't like lightning either, thank you very much.





	Doom and Gloom, Clouds Gathering

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: (feel free to ignore this, it really should have no bearing on your enjoyment of the story, but could offer possible explanations. Just keep scrolling to start reading) ((Also, side note, this is my first fic posted here. Whee!)
> 
> Oh my goodness I cannot get over how good The Dragon Prince is. It's so amazing! I can feel the world-building that's coming. Oh and making it so the kids have to learn other people's perspectives, and the brothers (oh the brothers I just want to hug them) and the creators NOT shying away from interracial couples and biracial children... just... wow. It makes me so happy. The political intrigue alone is fabulous! And the theories! Is Harrow dead? Is Viren really Viren (okay, that's not quite a fan theory yet but I am seriously wondering...), will Claudia and Soren start working with team flash-bark-zap-slash? I'M SO EXCITED!
> 
> This is my take on some pre-series events. Did they occur? Nah. I want to explain some of the circumstances that describe the happenings of this fic. If I'm wrong, it's my fault, I barely visited the wiki so shame on me. When a king marries, he usually does not choose a bride who already has offspring. It creates discord. So I am running under the assumption that Callum's father was the king of Katolis and his mother was queen. Then that man died, and Sarai took the throne. After that she married Harrow, who was a prince from another nation and had several older brothers who would inherit before him, so politically this was a good match. I think these things because of the way Callum is addressed in the story. Other than Soren, everyone calls him Prince or by his name. Why address him by a title he does not have? Also Harrow seems to be grooming Callum to take over the throne as he is the older brother, as opposed to his blood heir. Now could be that Harrow is just that cool. However, I'm thinking that Callum technically is the guy who is supposed to take over next because of his biological father. Okay, that's all. Title comes from the song "Can't Stand the Rain" by The Rescues. Enjoy!

Callum was not fond of dark and stormy nights. He didn’t even care for stormy days, although they were a mite more tolerable. He was not a fan of wailing gusts of wind, he did not enjoy the pattering of rain against the shingles of roofs, and he did not… like… thunder. He didn’t like lightening either, thank you very much. The clergy could go on and on about how rainfall was a blessing from the gods, or how a lightening storm was retribution against some unseen transgression, but it didn’t matter to the young prince. All that mattered was that they were loud and uncomfortable. Also, really bad things seemed to happen on the stormy nights. He didn’t mention this to others, because he knew how silly it sounded, but bad things happened too often for it to be happenstance.

 

When Callum was two years old, there was thunderstorm that was so bad, lightening struck the apple tree in the palace gardens and started a fire. At the time, Callum’s room was right next to the garden. His first memory was of a blaze creeping into his room by his window, and his father tearing his door open in a panic to pull him out.

 

It was a shame that one of Callum’s only memories of the man were when there was fear in his deep brown eyes.

 

When Callum was four, there was a storm so terrible it seemed to rattle the castle. He cuddled into his mother as she told him tales of his aunt Amaya in battle, talking with hands and words alike, trying to keep his mind off the terror just outside the stone walls. She was succeeding too, but with a powerful blast of thunder the doors to the sitting room burst open, startling a scream out of the young prince. Queen Sarai narrowed her ice-blue gaze at what appeared to be a nearly drowned soldier clutching a scroll. The man dripped on the carpet, kneeling before holding his prize to Callum’s mother.

 

“My queen,” he began hoarsely, coughing from the chill in the air. Queen Sarai moved Callum to sit alone on her chair before rising and pulling the scroll from the man’s fingers tossing her dark plait of hair over her shoulder.

 

This was the day they received news of the king’s death.

 

The week following was rainy and stormy. The priestess said the gods themselves were mourning the passing of the King of Katolis. Callum didn’t care what the gods thought, he just wanted to hide in his mother’s skirts or father’s shoulder because of the storms. Whenever he’d ask for his mother, the staff would gently scold him and take him off to play. Whenever he’d ask for his father, he was met with silence. It left him feeling cold and lonely.

 

When Callum was six he was startled awake by a clap of thunder. He shivered and snuffled into his pillows, trying to muffle his tears. Soren told him only babies were scared of bad weather.

 

Soren and Claudia came to the castle with Viren and King Harrow. It was strange to think of him as King Harrow, now. His mother was kind and gentle with their introduction, and the then-prince had a kind and somewhat playful gleam in his eyes when he knelt down and introduced himself properly, prince-to-prince, he said. Callum’s mother insisted that he did not have to call this man father if he didn’t want to, and the prince said Harrow would be fine, if that was preferred. Callum felt something loosen in his chest when he heard this.

 

Of course, Viren and his children were quick to educate Callum on how to properly address him. “The king is far too kind-hearted to teach propriety, especially to pitiable children, like you,” Viren would sneer. “You must address him as ‘Sire, or ‘King Harrow,’ or at least ‘sir’ from now on.”

 

Claudia often tossed her black hair over her shoulder and shrugged off his questions while they played. “I don’t see the big deal. He’s just a man. He can’t even do magic,” she said, almost sounding confused. “I mean, if anything, why not just call him Dad?”

 

_Because he’s not my dad, and both of us know it, he doesn’t want me to call him that…._

 

Soren was, by far, the absolute worst. “You’re just a step-prince now, you know. Sure, you used to be a prince, but now since your mother married Harrow, well he’s King.”

 

“But, but my dad was a king so I’m still a regular prince, aren’t I?” he asked, confused.

 

“Nope, just a step-prince. See, when your mom married King Harrow, any other kings just stopped mattering after that. So even though your dad was a king, well, now there’s a new king. And you’re not that king’s actual son, so you’re not a prince, you’re a step-prince.” Callum wanted to argue with that, but Soren spoke so confidently that Callum had to believe it was true. Soren was smart and big and strong, and he kept playing with Callum even though he was a crybaby and a weakling. Even if Soren was mean sometimes, Callum was happy the older boy would still spend time with him. He never had any other kids to play with before, and Soren wasn’t going to baby him, which was kind of refreshing.

 

Callum knew that he had to stifle his tears, because Soren was right. He was too old to be afraid of thunderstorms. He gingerly reached for his untouched goblet—cider brought to him before bed—when a bright flash out his window caused Callum to pull his blanket over his head. He pressed his face to his knees, crying as quietly as he could. Another crash of thunder shook his window, and his moan of fear was lost in the depth of sound.

 

Even if he didn’t listen to Soren, it didn’t matter now anyway. His mother was busy all the time with the new baby. Ezran was kind of boring, he cried a lot and he needed all of Queen Sarai’s attention. She was often very tired and always told Callum they would play later. Later just never seemed to come. Now it was the dead of night and Callum was certain his mother was either sleeping or tending to Prince Ezran. Callum heard a whisper of sound, like the creaking of his door. He pulled his covers down and sniffled. “He-hello?”

 

No one responded. Callum sniffled again before looking to his door. It was open and creaking slightly from the draft in the outer chamber. Callum pulled the covers off of himself, slowly moving toward the door across the cold stone floor. He pressed the door shut, and as he turned another flash of light filled the room, illuminating a tall, monstrous looking thing with wide eyes and a sharp blade. It had been hidden against the wall behind the door before Callum shut it. Callum opened his mouth, but before he could scream he was pressed against the door, a strong hand pressed against his mouth and nose. As Callum fought for breath he registered the thing was speaking to him.

 

“Not a word boy, not a word. Nod if you understand, and I’ll let you breathe,” its voice was low, gruff and quiet. Callum jerkily nodded his head, and the pressure lessened from his face, allowing him to take deep breaths with his nose. “Good.” As Callum’s eyes adjusted, he saw a dark form taking shape in front of him. It was too dark to make out any details, but Callum still had his other senses operating on high alert, and he felt the scrape of cold steel against his throat, stilling his form entirely. “Prince Callum, you were not supposed to be awake,” the voice went on cruelly. “You were supposed to drink my potion and still be in bed, not to be bothered by little old me when I came to get you.”

 

 _Get me? Who would want to get me? I’m not even a real prince anymore, Soren said so!_ Callum tried to speak against the hand, but thought better of it when the blade pressed harder against his skin. “good to know you have a modicum of self-preservation,” the voice said. The blade disappeared and soon Callum was being pulled by his arm away from the door and back towards his bed. In the darkness he was pressed into a seated position, the hand still clamped firmly over his mouth. “Now, pet, you don’t want to get seriously hurt here, right?” the blade was back, pressed against his back this time. Callum shook his head. “Alright, Prince Callum. You be a good boy for me, and I won’t have to hurt you. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, and you are going to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?” Callum nodded, tears coming out of his eyes. The hand disappeared and Callum held still as a stone, afraid to even let out a breath. A match flared in the dark and lit the lamp at his bedside. Callum blinked against the sudden light before taking in the intruder as he carelessly dropped the spent match.

 

The thing that snuck into Callum’s room was actually nothing more than a man, and a somewhat unkempt one at that. His skin was pale, but streaked with dirt and his eyes were dark and narrowed. His dark hair was tied up in braids similar to King Harrows, but clearly were not maintained to the same degree. Instead of being smooth and clean they were knotted, and a rotten stench came from the man’s scalp. Callum leaned back, repulsed, but did not dare make a sound. The man held a giant knife, the blade a big as Callum’s practice sword. The man chuckled, holding the blade in front of Callum again.

 

“W-w-what are you going to do?” Callum’s voice was small and quiet, barely loud enough to be heard. The man chuckled again.

 

“What am I going to do?” he repeated, firelight dancing off his blade. “What am I going to do? Well first I’m going to insist you drink that cider that was brought to you,” the man said, gesturing to the goblet next to the prince’s lamp. “Then I’m going to rock you to sleep. You won’t feel a thing.” Callum started crying in earnest, “but if you keep making noise,” he growled, bringing the point of his knife to Callum’s chest. Callum pressed both his hands to his mouth to keep the noises inside. “that’s better. Now drink your cider,” Callum sniffled and reached a shaking hand to his goblet, terrified as to what was in it. “Good boy, Prince Callum. Go on.”

 

For years Callum would wonder where he found the strength, courage, and pure insanity to do what he did next.

 

In a breath he threw the contents of the goblet onto the man, scrabbling away from him as he flinched and rubbed at his face, snarling. Callum ran across the floor and flung open his door, running through the outer chamber to the corridor. He struggled to pull open the door as the dirty man finally gave chase, approaching him quickly. With another crash of thunder Callum was down the corridor, screaming for help. Much to his surprise, after only a few minutes of running he collided with Viren and King Harrow, who were being accompanied by 4 guards.

 

“Callum, what’s wrong?” The king was startled to see his stepson in such a state. Callum tried to untwist his tongue and get the words out, sobbing and throwing himself at the king. King Harrow knelt down and wrapped his arms around him, making soothing sounds as he listened.

 

“There’ssomeoneinmyroomsandhe-he-he wantedmetodrinksomethingandhehadakn-kn-knifeandI’msoscareddadpleasedon’tmakemegoback _please_ —” Callum’s breathing hitched and his words were muffled into the king’s shirt.

 

“It sounds as though he had a nightmare, Your Highness,” Viren said, quietly. “It’s been a long evening. You needn’t bother yourself with this. I will see him to his chambers—”

 

“NO!” Callum shrieked, clinging tighter to the king’s clothing. Harrow rubbed his back soothingly.

 

“That’s enough, Viren. I will take care of my son. You may retire for the night,” he said. He was kind, but the order was firm. The mage nodded and walked away with two guards as Harrow scooped Callum into his arms. “Now, Callum. Tell me what happened,” the king said softly, as he carried Callum back toward his chambers, the remaining guards trailing after them. Callum sniffled and stuttered, crying at times, but managed to get the whole nightmarish tale out by the time they reached his outer door. Harrow set him down in the corridor and grabbed his chin in thought. “Well, I’m certain this assassin must have run off, since you were clever enough to get away.” Callum shook his head and bit his lip. He knew the king didn’t believe him. If he did, he wouldn’t even consider the man was gone until after ordering a search of the castle. “Perhaps you’ll feel better if we check your chambers?” he asked quietly. Callum shivered from head to toe, taking a step away from the door. Harrow place a hand on his shoulder. “I will be right beside you.” Callum looked from the king’s face to his scabbard. Chuckling, Harrow pulled his blade from the sheathe and held it in front of him. “Does that help?” Callum swallowed and nodded a little, standing behind Harrow as he gently opened the door.

 

They carefully looked at the outer chamber, relying on the light from the hallway and Callum’s bedroom. The guards stood attentively at either side of the entrance. After finding nothing, the king and prince went to Callum’s room. Hardly any drink was on his sheets, having all been thrown on the intruder, and his goblet lay on the floor. Harrow checked behind curtains and tapestries and in Callum’s closet. Upon finding nothing, he smiled a little. The king carefully sheathed his sword and pressed Callum into his bed. “Callum, no one is here. It was just a bad dream.” Callum grabbed Harrow’s wrist and shook his head.

 

“No, no he’s here. He was here, please don’t—” Another crash of thunder startled a scream from Callum and he burrowed into Harrow’s side. Harrow hushed him and pulled up his covers.

 

“You were dreaming, Callum. No one is here,” the king smoothed the boy’s hair down and reached down to grab the goblet, righting it on the bedside table. “You’re safe, now it’s time to close your eyes and I’ll turn down the light,” he said reaching for Callum’s lamp. “It shouldn’t even be lit anyway. This should have been turned down when you first went to sleep instead of wasting…oil….” The king paused, his fingers on the nob, looking at the bedside table, captivated by the single, used match laying next to the lamp. He lifted his gaze to meet Callum’s, seeing how very real his terror was before standing up. “Well perhaps after tonight’s events it would be better to leave you with some light,” the king pressed a finger to his lips, then he gestured for Callum to rise, seizing him under his arms and hauling him away from the bed as the prince did so.

 

After he set Callum down slightly behind him, Harrow quietly drew his blade again, staring down at the edge of Callum’s bed. Slowly the king moved backward, pushing Callum back through the door to the outer chamber. Callum looked from the king’s face to whatever was in his line of sight, then covered his mouth to prevent his cries from escaping. At the edge of the bed, where his covers once were, was a pale, dirty hand closed into a fist, just out of the candlelight. As soon as both were outside of Callum’s bedroom, Harrow shouted for the guards that accompanied them.

 

It took several weeks for Callum to sleep in his own bed again. No one called him a baby for it, not even Soren. King Harrow spoke to everyone about how brave and clever his stepson was. His mother would not let him out of her sight for days, and together they played with baby Ezran, who giggled for the first time when Callum made a goofy face.

 

To this day Callum still checked under the bed before he went to sleep.

 

By the time Callum was twelve, not too many interesting things, terrible or good, happened to Callum during thunderstorms.

 

There was the time that Ez and Bait ate all the jelly tarts and somehow, he got blamed for it, but that wasn’t particularly bad, and the storm was during the day, so it wasn’t that scary.

 

Once, all the lights got blown out in his room and he stubbed his toe on his chair.

 

Another time he got caught out in the rain because he fell asleep in the gardens and caught a terrible cold.

 

All in all, nothing too awful, nothing too great. Callum started to think that terribly things only happening during thunderstorms was coincidental.

 

All of that changed, though.

 

The storm lasted 3 days, with thunder and lightening at every turn. Ezran was terrified. So was Callum, but he was the big brother, so he kept it together.

 

Then, as they were dining with King Harrow, a startlingly familiar vision appeared to Callum. The doors crashed open following a bolt of lightning, and a soldier dripping with rainwater stumbled towards the king, falling on his knees. In his hand was as tightly rolled scroll. Callum dropped his spoon and stared at the man in shock, as Harrow reached down and pulled the scroll from the man’s fingers.

 

“My king,” he began, grief coloring his tone.

 

_No._

 

Katolis mourns a fallen leader for seven days.

 

This time, it stopped raining after the first day.

 

Callum was glad the Priestess did not have an interpretation to the gods will for that one.

 

Ez didn’t understand. He kept asking for his mother. Harrow was busy managing the kingdom and grieving in private.

 

Callum didn’t cry for days. He sketched, he ate, and he played with Ezran. He answered his brother’s questions and when Ezran asked for their mother, he held his brother tight. He told him she was gone, but always watching out for them. When he finally did cry, it was in solitude with a pillow pressed against his face to swallow the sound of his sobs.

 

Ever since then, at the first clap of thunder Callum could not rest easy. He would occupy himself with a book to read, or an idea to sketch, and he would wait out the storm.

 

Often Ezran would wake in fear, but Callum would remind his brother that he wasn’t alone, and that there was no reason to be afraid.

 

The fact that he was scared too was irrelevant.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Tada! Hope you enjoyed. I love that family. I just want all the fluff. I want a sick fic. And a bros fic. And a daddy-Harrow fic. It gives me ALL THE FEELS!
> 
> AND AMAYA OMG AMAYA IS MY HERO! Okay, I'm done. Please drop a review. Thanks!


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